Everything
by MontyTheDog
Summary: Assortment of drabbles and one-shots. K/D Chapter 9: How he was ingrained with the makings of a liar, and how fibbing has carried over into his adult years.
1. Firsts

A/n Since I can't keep multi-chaps going for the life of me, I figured I'd organize my drabbles and post them on here. If you follow my blog, you've probably already read a majority of what I'll be posting, but I'm going to add a few short stories. Rating should stay around T, if it doesn't, I'll add a warning in the author's note. Enjoy.  
\- Cierra

* * *

It's the first time she calls him by his first name. It's also the first time she feels his hair, really feels it. She's resisted the urge to run her fingers through it for years, and the strands feel like silk against her palm, much softer than she expected.

He tells her that he's falling in love with her after he guides her to his room, lays her down on the bed. She kisses him and wants to tell him that she loves him too but can't. Not because she doesn't, but because he's braver than she is.

Her bare chest brushes his as she inhales, and he touches her jaw, runs his thumb over her bottom lip. She knows what's coming and she almost wants to tell him to slow down–it escalated so quickly; she needed him and he needed her. But now she wonders if they should have taken more time to figure each other out.

It's not like she's going to say anything. She's shaking with anticipation, the want a persistent throbbing in her core. He sits back on his knees, his toes, and trails his fingers down her stomach, finding the smooth skin of her upper thigh. She touches his knuckles, following his movements, and tells him, "It's been a long time."

He laces his fingers between hers and guides her hand to his lips. He kisses her fingers and doesn't let go of her hand until she's saying his name, his first name, and making the most beautiful faces. He falls next to her and pulls her against his chest, kissing her hair, feeling her body tremble against his as she comes down. She tries to breathe and presses her forehead against his collarbone. She asks, "Why do I feel like we did something wrong?"

She feels him shrug, and she looks up at him. He takes advantage of her proximity, pressing his lips against hers, then to her neck. He smiles against the skin of her throat. "Don't choose," he tells her, and he says it simply, just like he did earlier.

"I want you, at work, as my partner. As my friend. As… this."

"You want me?"

_God, yes._ "Yeah."

"Say it."

He's so incredibly sexy sans clothes, with his blonde hair messed up, satisfied and cocky and smiling. "I want you, Deeks."

"So now I'm Deeks again?"

"Yep."

He kisses her lips. "Bet I can make you call me Marty."

She knows he probably can, but she can't tell him that. It'll take away the fun. Or some of it. "Doubt it."

The second time is slower. They both quenched their thirsts, and now it's less desperate. The frenzy's numbed to a buzzing excitement, a heat. They know that their expectations are going to be met, and their wants are exonerated, their nerve-endings kindled and sparking. She wakes up next to him, her legs tangled up with his, her head on his pillow. She's the first one up, but he opens his eyes when she stirs against him. He touches her hair and registers that his partner is naked in bed next to him. "Am I dreaming?" She pinches his chest. "Ow."

Her lips touch the place that she assaulted, and then she kisses his collarbone, trailing her lips to the scruff on his neck. She loves the feeling of his beard against her cheek, and she closes her eyes, presses the side of her face underneath his. Then she sits up, draws the blanket around her chest, throws her legs over the side of the bed. She's staring at a wall.

He inches his way over to her, laying a hand on her shoulder blade. "Why'd you stop kissing my neck?" he whines.

She shakes her head. "Something bad's going to happen."

His heart beats a little faster, because he feels it, too. He forces a tight-lipped grin. "Why do you say that?"

She looks behind her shoulder at him, and he sees her eyes, spiraling holes separated by her nose. A gold mine and a coal mine, emotion flowing beneath the exterior. "You're too good."

They shower separately. He scrounges his closet for a shirt that might fit her and gives up. They're running late so stopping at her place isn't an option. She's been quiet since she woke up, and he catches her hand before she walks out the door. "Hey."

"What?"

"I don't regret it. Okay?" He wants to kiss her, but he feels like he shouldn't. "Whatever happens, nothing's going to change how amazing last night was."

She smiles, but it barely touches her eyes. It's her only response. She walks out his door.


	2. Without

A/n An extremely old request I never got around to posting. (These chapters aren't necessarily connected.)  
\- Cierra

* * *

The skies in Arizona contain a thousand more stars than the ones in LA. She sits on her porch every night, a beer in her hand, watching ancient light flicker above her. She's learned constellations (Big Dipper in the Great Bear, find the Herdsman by counting down stars, bright to yellow. And then she traces to Virgo and back to the Big Dipper to find her lion. After Leo her eyes always drag to Capricorn. Habit.), retaught herself the phases of the moon, keeps track of them with the dust on the outside of her windows, which is a constant in Arizona.

Arizona is actually beautiful, and she has a back yard, a nicer house, neighbors that aren't so close she can see through their window when she looks out her own. Monty Jr. (yes, they named Monty's puppy Junior) has plenty of space to jump around, do doggy stuff. But.

She misses the waves, the sand, the craziness. The men she called brothers at one time, the girl who filled the role of her maid of honor when she married Deeks, the other friends Deeks swore were crazy. OSP. Him.

Which is ultimately why she left, because she couldn't feel the sea breeze on her face, sleep in their bed, without feeling him, catching shadows of him, thinking every blonde surfer riding waves _was _him. The sinking feeling when they came to shore and she realized their hair wasn't floppy enough, their smiles not wide enough, the height, the shoulders, the lips... wrong. Everything became overwhelming, the sun, the pictures, the absence of his laugh.

So the weight of her service SIG was replaced with that of a Heckler &amp; Koch HK45C, military issued. Marine issued, to be specific.

She works with Yuma's marine base in the intelligence portion. Her job is important and uninteresting. She doesn't deploy, ever. Not that she wants to. But she'd be lying if she said she doesn't miss the field work.

Maybe her dad would like this version of his daughter better-a marine, grounded and steady and obedient, versus who she was when she was with him-somebody reckless, dangerous, crazy. Married to a man who didn't resemble her father in the slightest. Blonde, shaggy, a _cop _who'd been a _criminal defense lawyer_. Didn't take life very seriously.

Maybe. But wherever her dad is, if he has the slightest semblance of how much she loved that man, how much he loved her, the hurt she feels constantly, then Kensi knows that he approves. Did approve. Before...

She stops herself, standing up abruptly from the swinging chair on her back porch. She sets down her beer bottle on the banister, running a hand through her hair, staring at the dark grass in front of her with her hand on her waist, forcing herself to remain standing upright. She's not nearly drunk enough to start crying, and it's not late enough.

She looks at her nearly empty beer, debating. It's only her first drink, but unless she's planning on getting so hammered that she can't remember her name, much less the man her husband was, it might be best to just call it a night. It's not like she can allow herself to become completely wasted, and she hasn't since he died except for once, by accident. She woke up next to a loaded gun lying inches away from her hand and the sound of a baby crying, and she hasn't been past three drinks in a sitting since.

She heads towards the patio screen door when she senses movement from the other side of the house. Maybe an engine cutting off. She trails through the house, scampering towards the front door. It's half past ten, and she can't come up with any reason why somebody would be visiting her. Coworkers, boss, non-existent friends. But murderers don't just come knocking on front doors.

So she waits until she hears a fist tapping against the door before opening it. The figure in front of her is half concealed by poor lighting. "Can I help-"

"Kens."

She hasn't heard that nickname in close to four years. She hasn't heard that voice in just as long. It sounds choked and impossibly tired, but, God, it can only belong to him...

He steps forward, towards the light in the living room. She gasps, unable to comprehend why she's seeing his face, and why it's distorted. Have his cheek bones always been that prominent? Did he have bags like that when she used to wake up to him staring down at her? The leathery, pink scar right next to his eye definitely wasn't there before, and that means fire. His hair lands on his shoulders, and the length falls in limp waves, unparted.

She realizes she's staring, she can't move, why can't she move? And then she's crying, and when he barely touches her shoulder, when he acts like he's afraid to hug her, it makes her even more inconsolable. It's his fingers brushing her hair, ghosting over her arm, that snaps her out of her trance.  
"Is it really you? Tell me it's really you."

"Marty Deeks. Cop. Hopeless romantic. Husband to the greatest woman on the planet."

She touches his face, needing to assure herself that he's tangible, that he's not going to slip away, disappear, die (again). "You're dead," she tries to explain, looking into the same eyes she dreams of every night.

"I'm not," he tells her. "I promised, didn't I?"

She wasn't even sure he remembers that night, a lifetime ago, before they'd even gone to bed together, when she made him promise not to die. She stares at him, trying to find an explanation. When she can't she realizes that right now she doesn't care because he's here, okay, alive, and she presses her lips to his, triggering thousand of shared memories, beds and weddings and ice rinks and motorcycles.

She shoves the door closed with her back, unwilling to move away from him. She wraps her arms around his neck, resting her forehead against his shoulder. She feels faint. Her knees are doing a sucky job of holding her up, so he guides her over to the couch. He holds her close to him. "It's okay, Kensi. I'm okay."

"You're okay?"

"Bout as okay as anyone else."

She shakes her head, burying it against his shirt. "I thought you were dead."

"So did I, for a little while there," he says, frowning. His hand brushes his scar subconsciously.

"It's been four years."

"And now you're a marine, living in Arizona." She feels him laugh against her. The sound is amazing.

"Oorah," she jokes weakly, grinning despite herself. The resulting chuckle from him makes her eyes sting with tears all over again.

"Kens, are we still...us? Are you-is there anybody else?"

She pulls away from him slightly, so she can look him in the eyes. She stretches her fingers against his, closing them over his knuckles. He looks at their intertwined hands, and runs his thumb over the ring still sitting on her left hand. "I never took it off."

He smiles, but it falters when he notices something in her expression shift. "Kensi, if something changed, I understand-"

She shakes her head, interrupting him. "I need to show you something." With their hands still intertwined, Kensi leads him down the hallway, and he follows, silent. She opens the door adjacent to the master bedroom, flipping on the hallway light so they can make out more than shadows. She hears a woosh of breath leave his lungs, and she follows him, unable to stop tears from forming behind her eyes when he crouches next to the miniature bed. The only thing either of them can make out is a slick of blonde hair, relatively straight but thick, peeking from under the blankets. She places her hand against his shoulder.

When they step out of the bedroom, they both have tears sparkling in their eyes. Deeks asks, "Really?"

Kensi nods, feeling lighter than she has in a long, long time.

"A boy?" When she nods in confirmation again, he grins. "Please tell me you didn't name him Martin."

"Jacob. Jake." She decides not to admit that his middle name is Martin.

His eyes are alight with wonder when he repeats back to her, "Jake." He places his hands on her waist, resting his forehead against hers. "What do we tell him?"

It's still so surreal that Deeks is with her. Trying to explain to her three year old the concept of having a daddy, his own daddy, is probably going to be a challenge. But she can't force herself to focus on it. The last half decade seems to be rushing back at her full force, the pregnancy, the day she had him, the innocence in her baby's clear eyes when he would look up at her, like _why are you sad, mommy?_ Long hours spent next to a grave that wasn't even his. Moving away from the echo of her partner with a six week old.

If this is a dream, she doesn't ever want to wake up. He brushes a piece of her hair behind her ear, stroking the stray hairs just above her temple. He starts to say her name when she cuts him off, pressing her lips against his. The sex is something she hasn't allowed herself to need, because it could lead to her going down an even more destructive path, but it makes her feel so good, so alive and aware that he's with her, she doesn't understand how she made it so long without him.

He's sleeping, and the man that he is unconscious reminds her of the man that she fell in love with. She's able to place the other things that were off about him besides the obvious (being the hair, the skinniness, the scar on his face). He carries tension around like a weight, making his shoulders stiff, like they'll crumple with the weight of whatever invisible thing they're carrying if he doesn't walk with them squared. His face is drawn, exhausted, the bags more like dark scars. He's not just skinny; even lying on his stomach, she can count his ribs. On his midsection is a huge scar, healed now, but without a doubt serious at one time. And looking at him is looking at a stranger.

But it's still him. His eyes, the jokes, the love. She starts to place things she missed that she didn't even realized were absent, the way his thumb draws patterns on her waist, the crinkles located at the corners of his eyes, the gap between two of his otherwise perfectly straight teeth. Everything is so plenty, so exhilarating, it makes her feel like she's drowning all over again.

She doesn't sleep, too afraid that if she closes her eyes, when she opens them he'll be gone. So she fishes around for a shirt and underwear, sits with her back against her pillow, and listens to him breathe.

It's probably five in the morning when she hears tiny feet pad their way into the bedroom. Her son is so drowsy that he doesn't even notice the form laying next to her, concealed by a mountain of blankets. He says, "Momma," climbs into her arms, and almost immediately falls asleep again, blonde hair sticking straight up against her chest.

It's indescribable, going from having an incomplete family to having a unit that's not quite whole, but all of the pieces are present, ready to be connected. She wouldn't have made it without Jake. After Deeks was announced dead, she nearly lost herself, and the only thing that kept her from doing so was the bump she noticed in the mirror one day, and the jeans that wouldn't button. The team helped her a tremendous amount during the pregnancy, which made it harder to leave them.

Her baby is three and a half, blue-eyed, loves dirt and his dog. He runs around the house with her marine cover on his light hair, shading his eyes, hunting death cats and sabertooths and anything else his imagination can grab hold of. He's tough, tough enough not to cry when he runs into corners and stubs his toes, but anytime she's sad (which is often), so is he.

She rubs his back, looking over his hair at Deeks, who's still sleeping. She listens to the little sounds her son and her husband make while they sleep, counts her baby's fingers and toes, keeps track of every time she sees the comforter rise and fall above Deeks's torso.

It's eight thirty when Jake opens his eyes, sitting up against her and looking around the room, still half asleep. But his eyes narrow and his little body tenses as his bleary gaze lands on Deeks. "Mommy," he says, pointing next to her at Deeks's form.

It was really hard on her, when he started watching cartoons and reading books and going to daycare with kids who had two parents, a mom, a dad. He asked her why he didn't have a daddy, and she told him he did, he just wasn't with them. And as he grew he became more curious, and he asked where he was. And she told him he was with her daddy, somewhere far away. She couldn't bring herself to tell him his father was in heaven, dead, would never be a part of his life. So she took the easy way out, told him Deeks was gone, nothing more.

When he was a toddler, an infant, a gurgling, wordless child, she'd show him pictures, point Deeks out. She wanted him to know who his dad was. But the questions made everything that much more painful, and she couldn't bear the confused expression on his face when she told him that a stranger in a picture, absent and unfamiliar, was his dad.

She watches him carefully. "That's your daddy." She gauges his reaction. She expected confusion, but it's too much for his little brain to even try to comprehend. He looks at her, then at Deeks.

Again, his next move is unexpected. He shoves Deeks's arm, and Deeks _hmmm_s as his eyes open, immediately zeroing in on the tiny face that's peering down at his larger one. He finds Kensi behind his son, and she looks apologetic, but he smiles at her, looking back at the toddler in front of him. He doesn't expect his voice to break, but it does when he says, "Hi."

"Are you my dad?" Jake's face is intent, his blue eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Kensi pulls Jake into her lap. Deeks sits up against the pillows. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"Are you sure?"

Deeks nods. "I'm sure."

Jake doesn't look convinced. Kensi seems determined to assure him. She rubs his fine hair, thick like tool on a dress, swaying slightly as she bends her head to look at his face. "Jakey, look. You have the same hair."

Deeks shakes his head back and forth, his long hair swaying in demonstration. Jake turns his face against his mom's collarbone, suddenly shy, which isn't normal for him. If Kensi had to describe her son in two words, it would be bold and extroverted. "Jake, hey..."

He pulls away from Kensi, looking at his two parents. He announces that he's going to go watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. He fixes his gaze carefully on Deeks. "You can watch with me."

He scurries off of the bed, both of his parent's eyes following him. Then Kensi looks at Deeks, noticing for the first time that his eyes are bright with tears. He rubs his eyes roughly, looking back at Kensi when he feels her hand on his arm.

"Deeks..."

"I'm sorry you had to do it by yourself." Her hand finds his shoulder blade, and she thumbs the skin that's pulled taut over his bones. "I wish I could've been-God, four years. And we have a kid."

Even after the years that have passed, she still can't stand seeing him upset. Her throat constricts and her words come out quiet as she fights for composure. "I'm so sorry, Deeks."

He hears her start to cry, and he pulls her against his chest. They hold each other for what seems like a lifetime, and time freezes. The sound of the television in the living room fades away, even the sound of each other crying for time lost. Deeks smooths her hair before trailing a finger under her chin, angling her face to look at him. "You did an amazing job. You know that."

It's exactly what she needs to hear. She always felt like she made the wrong decisions with Jake, especially right after she had him. Even things as stupid as brand of diapers.

"I mean it, Kens. He's awesome."

She smiles. Jake is pretty awesome, she just never thought it had anything to do with her. "He looks just like you."

"He was bound to be cute. Look at us."

Kensi grins, but it fades. She can't help thinking about what opportunities they missed out on as a couple, as parents. Her eyes wander to the scar on his face. She tucks her knees underneath her, facing him. Her fingers reach out, ghosting over the angry red mark branding his face. "What happened to you?"

He tells her a story about an explosion (the one that she thought killed him), a super secret undercover op the CIA passively aggressively recruited him for, some weird coastal town in Crimea, sadistic arms dealers, another explosion. A six week long coma. A struggle to get home. A struggle to find her. "I kept begging my handler to let you know I was okay, to let me write you a letter, something."

To think that Deeks was out there the whole time trying to get in touch with her is incomprehensible. She forces the thought away, opting to ask if the CIA knows where he is.

"It doesn't matter. The major players are dead. They probably figure I am too. Not that they care."

"You're back now," she says, and she kisses him, a confirmation.

"And I'm not leaving."

"Promise?"

He nods. "Never."

He knows it's his turn to ask questions, and he has a million of them. Why she left LA. Why she's a marine. Jake's birthday, favorite color, first word, middle name. But before he can ask any of them, they hear the pattering sound of little feet against hardwood. The owner of the little feet halts at the threshold, arms crossed. "You coming or what?"

Kensi tries to stop from grinning and fails. "Well?"

Deeks smiles back at her. "Absolutely."

Jake darts away again, calling, "Hurrrrrry upppp," down the hallway.

"You heard the man, hurry up," Kensi says.

Deeks stumbles into his jeans, and she fishes around for an LAPD shirt that she could never bring herself to part with. He feels her swat his butt with the shirt before tossing it to him. "I missed that a lot more than I should have."

Kensi shrugs, the glint in her eye mischievous, familiar. He pulls the top over his head, following Kensi to the living room, where a little boy sits against the arm of a couch, legs sprawled out so that he takes up two cushions. Deeks sits on the floor in front of his feet. "What did I miss?"

"Not too much."

Deeks rubs the beard on his chin. He says, "That's good." He looks at Kensi, who's already watching him. He smiles at her. "Really good."


	3. Valentine

She automatically woke up around seven, but only just so. Enough to realize that there was a hand splayed across her stomach and a familiar pressure behind her.

From some groggy crevice of her brain, she realized that as of seven hours ago, it was Valentine's Day. And it was a Saturday. Which meant wake up sex didn't have to be rushed.

She turned around, kissed him out of unconsciousness, told him happy Valentine's, and that was all it took. She hooked her leg around his waist and he made her head spin and her heart stop and her fogged over brain spark awake in a display of fireworks.

She realized she hadn't been ready to wake up. She'd just needed Deeks. She cuddled next to him and he kissed her head and held her until she fell asleep again. The next conscious element of her surrounding she identified was an awesome smell, something chocolaty, maybe cinnamon. Her stomach growled loudly enough for her to have the decency to be embarrassed, and she thought _Damn, really?_ But her snuggle buddy wasn't around to hear it, and the realization that he wasn't in the room along with the heavenly scent coming from the kitchen pulled her out of bed.

Before she could ask what he was cooking, because damn it if that wasn't what she'd been thinking about since she woke up, he grabbed her waist, the quiet song he'd been humming coming out of his mouth louder now that there was somebody to sing it to. He took her hand, his voice smooth and rich in her ear. "You're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off of you. You'd be like heaven to touch, I want to hold you so much. You're, uh, badada…" He kind of hummed the last part before giving up. "I sorta forgot the rest."

She laughed. "That's okay. You got the important part." In a voice considerably less melodic than his, she stumbled over the next verse, still swaying in his arms. "At long last love has arrived, and I thank God I'm alive. You're just too good to be true… can't take my eyes off of you." She kind of smiled, giggling at how uncharacteristically sappy she was allowing herself to be, and when she met his eyes she saw an emotion that she was done denying and ignoring reflected back at her. Love.

For a split second, she considered telling him how much she loved him. But instead she shook her head, goofy smile still in place, butterflies fluttering in her stomach at how he was looking at her, like she was golden. She put her hand on his chest. "Good morning, Shaggy."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Kensalina."

"Is this my present?" she asked, looking at the counter where heart shaped pancakes sat in a stack with white cream oozing down them. "Please say yes."

"I thought you hated my cooking."

"I thought that you said I'd never tasted your real cooking."

"All right, touché. Yes, Fern, the pancakes are for you."

"Yes!" She sidled over to the plate on the counter, tearing a large piece off of one, smearing it in the cream and plopping it in her mouth before Deeks could protest.

"Wait, wait– Really, Kens?"

She shrugged. "Hungry." The she moaned. He tried to ignore how sexy it sounded. "So good."

"Old family recipe."

She raised her eyebrow, obviously not believing him.

"Okay, actually the recipe was courtesy of Paula Dean. But those fluffy indulgences were all me."

"The kid got skills."

"Took you long enough to acknowledge how awesome I am. And by the way, dinner at 1900 hours. Don't make plans."

She snorted, digging a fork into the stack of pancakes. "Right, because I'm really going to be spending Valentine's Day with someone who isn't my boyfriend."

Sometimes Deeks forgot that wow, they were officially exclusive to each other, and it was fucking awesome. He might have puffed his chest out a little when he replied, "Yeah, right." He smiled. "That reminds me…"

He left the room, and when he reentered he was holding blue roses, a box of chocolates, and another box with a bow on it. Also a teddy bear, because it had looked snuggle worthy at Wal-mart, and Kensi loved snuggles.

"Oh, what… Deeks…" She put down her fork. "What did you–?"

"Gifts for the princess."

"Blue roses? How did you manage to find blue roses?" All the while she was searching for a vase. She settled for a tall glass.

"They're white, dyed blue. And I know you hate flowers but–"

"They're beautiful. Thank you." She smiled as she took the chocolates and the teddy bear from him. "You're such a freaking hopeless romantic."

"Guilty as charged. But you missed one."

Not missed, she thought. Carefully avoided. She eyed the velvet cube in his hand before reaching for it slowly, like it was susceptible to biting. Deeks watched her, trying to hide his amusement. "It's a box, Kensi. It's not going to hurt you."

That was where he was wrong. The last box like this had hurt her. A lot. Had kept coming back to bite her in the ass for years. She tried to stay sensible. She'd only been with him for two months, hardly that. And he would be on one knee if…

Nope. Uh-uh. Kensi freaked herself out way too easily. She raised an eyebrow at Deeks as if to say, 'You know exactly what I'm thinking, and if it is, I'll kill you.' Deeks just kept grinning at her. Idiot.

She opened the box. She smiled. "A bracelet." It was simple, an understated golden chain wrapped around itself, forming tight helixes. She looked closely at the engraving on the small tag near the clasp. Their anniversary.

She wasn't even sure he knew it, if it was stupid that she knew it, but he did, and when she reached for his hand she tried to convey how much everything meant to her. "Thank you." She kissed him. "Why are you so good to me?"

"Because I love you." This time he was the one to kiss her. "And you deserve the best."

She didn't feel like it, like she deserved him. She reached under the LAPD t-shirt she was wearing, extracting the knife she had sheathed against her abdomen as soon as she'd climbed out of bed.

"So this is how it's going to end. Gutted by the woman I love on Valentine's Day. Can't say I saw this coming."

She gave him a WTF look and handed him the knife. It was her dad's. "I'm sorry if I misinterpreted this metaphor or allegory or whatever the first time around, but this is something that was important to me and my dad. But now it's more important to me for you to have it, to protect yourself, protect me. If your ready to take it… or whatever. A knife can be just a knife if you want it to be, but I think I need it to be more than that now, after everything, if you want–"

He interrupted her babbling by pressing his lips to hers. He caught them half open, and his mouth worked against hers. She tasted like cinnamon and maple syrup.

They probably needed to stop interrupting each other with kisses, but what the hell, it worked better than when they used to attempt to communicate with words. He smiled. "I love you, and whatever you want this knife to entail, consider it taken care of."

She gulped. If he knew everything she wanted that knife to represent, it would probably send him running after only two months in a relationship. She would never admit that sometimes she dreamed about a rounded stomach with feet pressing against the inside of her abdomen, and houses with fingerpaint on the walkway. Cars with "just married" painted on the back, white dresses, retirement.

The latter used to scare her senseless, because she couldn't imagine direction without a job. Now she couldn't imagine not spending the last few decades of her life with the man that she loved. She frowned.

"What?"

"Is it okay?" She couldn't shake the feeling that she got it wrong.

"Kensi, this is the nicest thing anybody's given me in a long time. It's great." He grabbed her hand, the one with her bracelet hanging above her palm, sitting on her wrist. "Really."

She wondered if this was the opportune moment to say 'I love you'. Again, she decided against it, but she could feel it coming, soon. And she was pretty sure he already knew.

"Can I eat the pancakes?"

"I see where your mind's been this entire conversation."

"Where did I set the chocolate?"

"Oh my God. You are a bottomless pit. An endless void. A vacuum."

"I think I deserve some of your pancakes for that remark."

"Only if you share your chocolate."

"We'll see, Shaggy."

"Really?"

Maybe. "No."

He sighed. "Your one true love. Food. How could I ever expect to rival it."

She smiled, took a bite of her pancake, and looked at him, her independent hand toying with her new bracelet. "You're a close second."


	4. Saving Grace

"I'm not leaving him."

"Agent Blye–"

"I'll quit if I have to," she says, leveling Granger with a defiant stare. She stands in front of Deeks's slumped body, her stance protective. The gear she brought with her lies discarded by the chair he's bound to.

She had every intention of pushing aside her feelings for him, of forcing herself to do what's expected: magically become emotionless, transform herself into a superhuman, something too good for hindrances such as love and heartache. But there were a couple of seconds when she first saw him bloody and unmoving where she faced the possibility of him being dead, and that's when she knew. There's no way she can leave her partner.

"Then I'll arrest you for interfering with a federal investigation. Kensi, we have to move."

She turns to look at her partner, and his expression can only be described as terrified. She feels tears sting the back of her eyes as she looks at him, a shell of who was less than a day ago. "He wouldn't leave me. And even if he would, I can't."

She crouches beside Deeks again, but keeps talking to Granger. "Make Sam tell Sidorov that when he woke up, Deeks was gone. He must've escaped. We'll make it look like he died as soon as he arrived at the hospital. He's not staying here."

"It won't work. They'll feel compromised and reroute everything."

"Michelle isn't made. We'll still be inside." She cuts her partner's restraints, swinging Deeks's arm around her shoulder before easing him up.

But he's not looking at her. He's looking at Sam.

For the first time, she turns her attention to the former SEAL. "Tell him, Granger. We have to move."

"I…Sam…," Deeks stutters, and she can see blood streaming down the corner of his mouth. His teeth are dyed pink.

"He's more restrained than you are. It wouldn't make sense for him to have escaped. Don't worry about him, okay?"

Granger's relaying the new plan to Sam, and after, the beaten man locks eyes with the detective. He nods slowly, stiffness etched into his body, and Kensi feels gratitude wash over her. She's not sure if Deeks would've left him alone. "He's going to be okay," she promises. "And so will you."

* * *

They put him in an unlisted room, having known the hospital's the first place Sidorov would look. They stopped his bleeding, stitched his face, set up a date for reconstructive surgery. He's been out for the past hour, and she's been sitting beside him since.

Her phone rings, and she answers it, hoping that it's not Hetty. She knows there'll be consequences for her impromptu change of plan. She let the personal get in the way of the professional. But, then again, she's only human. And she wasn't going to gamble with her partner's life.

Turns out it's Granger on the phone, informing her that Sam's been admitted. He's in bad condition, but he should be okay.

Deeks wakes up with alarm in his blue eyes not long after. He looks around, takes in the bright room, the machines. His gaze lands on her, and he lets out a breath. "Kens."

The sound of her nickname coming from his lips makes her unexpectedly emotional. She swallows past the sudden lump in her throat and scooches her chair nearer to him, interlacing her fingers with his. "Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Like I went through hell." His voice is rough and his face is swollen. His jaw's black and purple and puffed up. The doctors told her that they drilled straight to the bone in some places. "But mostly just numb."

If she thinks about what put him in this condition, she'll start crying. He's the one that should be crying, not her, so she forces the thought of psychopathic torturers from her head and focuses on the positive. He's here, he's alive, and he's going to make it.

She nods, looking down at their hands, and thinks about him kissing her. She decides that if there's any time for opening up, it's now. After everything he's been through, he deserves honesty. He shouldn't have to worry about where they stand on top of everything else. "I thought it was my fault when I found you. I thought that he'd killed you, and I thought it was my fault."

"How could it have been your fault?"

"Because I let you get close to me."

"That's crazy."

"Maybe," she agrees, thumbing his hand.

"You _saved_ me," he tells her. "Thinking about your smile, and your laugh…it's the only thing that got me through."

She shakes her head, biting her lip. "Deeks."

"And you got me out of there. You were supposed to leave me, but you didn't."

"I couldn't."

He looks at her, amazed, and she thinks he's going to say something, but for one of the first times throughout their partnership, he's at a loss for words.

She stands up, bending over to place a kiss on his forehead. "You're safe," she says, "but Michelle might not be."

"Let me go with you."

"Okay, now you're the crazy one."

"No, Kens. Sidorov might…I might be able to…"

She surveys him, knowing that he needs this, and that it may be his only opportunity to get the closure he deserves. "Let's go save the day."

* * *

They save the day, and he puts four in Sidorov's torso. It's a relief he's gone, but she wishes the miserable bastard could've suffered more.

She doesn't even return to OSP, too wary of what awaits her inside the walls of the Spanish mission, and too drained to deal with anything else. She hasn't slept in over twenty four hours. Her plans for the night involve a hot shower, a warm bed, and not much else.

"Your place or mine?" It's the first time of many that she asks Deeks where he wants to shack up for the night.

He looks at her from across the console, tired and surprised. Then he grins, his lips closed, probably to hide the mess that is the inside of his mouth. Still, even without his gorgeous teeth showing and featuring the addition of awful bruises, his smile is perfect. And the glint in his eyes is refreshing and makes her heart skip a beat because maybe he'll be okay, and maybe they'll make this work. "Seriously?"

She tries to act nonchalant. "If you want."

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

* * *

She runs him a bath at her place. She lets him soak until she knows there's no way the water could still be warm. When she opens the door, for a second she thinks he's fallen asleep, but him talking proves otherwise. "I'm naked, you know," he says, never opening his eyes.

"I didn't expect you to have clothes on." She approaches the bathtub, sliding down to her knees by his side. "You okay?"

"Probably not. Am I supposed to be?"

"Probably not."

He squints his eyes open, cocking his head. "So, you gonna join me?"

She grins, shaking her head no. He doesn't try to hide his disappointment. "Oh."

Kissing's out of the question, for obvious reason. And she knows that, judging by the bruises on his torso, the rest of his body can't be feeling that great, either. "Just relax," she almost whispers, reaching out to stroke his bangs away from his eyes. "Let me take care of you."

His eyes fly open when she reaches her hand under the water. "Uhhm, what are you doing?"

"Taking care of you."

* * *

She places her hand on his chest and her head near his shoulder when they go to bed. "You're not asleep," she observes.

"Neither are you."

"Touché." There's silence for a beat, and then she says, "You know, we should be tired."

"I am. Too tired to sleep."

"Are you hurting?"

"No, well, yes. But that's not what's keeping me awake."

His face is puffy and painful looking. She can't even kiss it better. "Yeah, I know. But he's dead, Deeks. You killed him. You made it."

"I know. I just feel so…shitty."

"That's okay. But you can't let him have a piece of your soul. He's not worth it."

His anguished jaw clenches. "I know that, Kensi. But it's not easy."

"Well, you're right," she concedes. "The weight of what you went through…nobody should have to carry it." Kensi feels his heart beating beneath her palm. She kisses the skin nearest to her face, which happens to be his bicep, and lets her lips linger against his skin. "But you're not alone. I'm right here."

He purses his lips, obviously debating on whether to say something or not. When he talks, his words are carefully chosen. "I don't want you…to have to do this again."

"Do what?"

"Play caretaker. Support me, baby me, take care of me."

"Let's get one thing straight: I'm not a babysitter. Actually, two things. I'm not a babysitter, and you're not Jack. You're you, and you're my partner, and you would do the same for me." She props her elbow against the pillows and rests her head in her palm, looking at him. "I've got your back."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

Seemingly satisfied, she lays down again, curling against his side. He wraps his arm around her, and together they begin to drift off.

When she's nearly asleep, she hears him say, "Hey, Kens?"

"Hmmm?"

"Thank you. For not leaving me. It, uh, it means more than you know."

Her smile's soft and sleep-filled as she snuggles closer to him. "You're welcome."


	5. Rubies

Challenge two, a week late. _/ Kensi gets inducted into the Bullet Hole Club with the rest of the cool kids._

Sam expects her to come in with a ring on her finger and pictures from the proposal, but instead the Monday after the Friday Deeks confessed to the former SEAL he was planning on asking Kensi to marry him the couple walk into work together barely looking at one another. There's a frown forming a crease between Kensi's eyebrows, and she looks exhausted. Neither one of the couple offer any words of greeting to Sam, who's trying to nonchalantly catch Deeks's eye. When the LAPD detective finally meets his gaze, which is growing more pointed by the second, he only offers a small shrug.

G, completely unaware of the events that took place over the weekend, notices the partners' behavior. "Trouble in paradise?" he asks, directing it towards Deeks and Kensi. Neither of the pair acknowledges G, and Eric saves them from any further questioning by calling them to ops. Sam falls behind with Deeks, bumping into his shoulder. "So?"

Deeks shakes his head.

"She said no?" Sam asks in disbelief.

He sighs. "Later?"

Deeks is acting like he's taken a beating, and in a way, he probably has. Sam hurts for the detective. He's been there with Michelle, who immediately associated marriage with the loss of her career when they were younger. He didn't propose until he had to, when they found out she was pregnant with Aiden, but not because he hadn't wanted to beforehand. He just knew she wouldn't say yes.

But with a baby on the way, their baby, Michelle knew that their working partnership was already shot to hell. She said yes, and she was in her third trimester when they eloped. She had their son less than a week after exchanging vows.

Now, Sam wonders if Kensi and Deeks originally considered their future together when their resistance wore too thin, as his and Michelle's had inevitably done. Had they understood that eventually they had to stop working together if they ever wanted their thing to go anywhere? While they joked about blue eyed ninja assassins, did they realize that Kensi would be tethered to that little human, that one of them would have to quit?

Flames, sex, dating, and _I love yous_, sure, but Sam had known that as soon as he slipped a ring on her finger, one of them would never be able to participate in their task force again. And when she had Aiden, the dynamic completely changed. They had to move in together, they agreed that she should take some time off and she resigned, and they became completely different types of partners. He loved his family - still does, more than the world - but seeing Michelle, so reckless and badass and completely undomesticated (before Aiden they ate take-out basically every night) force herself to change took a toll on both of them. Especially Michelle.

When he came home late at night, smelling like smoke and guns and forcing himself to calm down even though adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, the guilt was almost enough to make him want to quit and let her have his position. But the idea of the mother of his child surrounded by people who want her dead without him there to back her up made a protectiveness build inside of him, a feeling with a magnitude he'd never experienced before, never thought existed. And also, some smaller, selfish part of him knew that he couldn't do what she did - stay at home, change diapers, suppress her need for the high that only comes when she's chasing bad guys and saving the world.

He told Kensi he made a lot of mistakes when Aiden was young, and he hadn't been lying. He let Michelle suffer. He'd catch her, vacant eyed and holding their child, and in those moments he never knew what to say to her. He knew that 'I'm sorry' wouldn't suffice and he knew that he couldn't make it better for her, so he didn't try.

When he looks at Kensi and Deeks, he sees himself and his wife. Maybe he shouldn't - they're their own people after all, with their own very complex and very unique love story - but he knows that their love could easily become destructive, if they aren't careful. And despite what Michelle went through, what they went through together, he wouldn't change where he is today for anything. Which is why when Deeks confided in him, telling him that he was going to ask Kensi to marry him, he smiled and thumped his back and encouraged him. After everything, if there's one thing he's learned it's that love is worth it. Kensi and Deeks might, somehow, someway, manage to figure out how to remain partners if they decide to get married, and they might end up together in the end, despite the odds.

He has a pretty good idea of what happened when they first crossed the line together. They probably threw caution to the wind, lived in the moment, and they'd been 'living in the moment' until Deeks apparently decided he wanted something more. A family? Probably, but maybe he just wanted to see her in a white dress and have her take his last name. Because the simple truth is that they love each other, and that he wants to spend the rest of his life with her.

Which, who can blame the guy for wanting to spend the rest of his days with somebody he loves, somebody he's gone to hell and back for? And Sam knows they deserve it. But he's said it himself, and so has Callen - they need to be prepared for the consequences. Truly prepared, not yeah whatever let's get hitched prepared. Sam figures that when Deeks got down on one knee, Kensi saw everything she could potentially have to give up, and none of the things she could gain. But he sees the way she interacts with Kam, the way she looks at Deeks with kids, and he's almost positive she'll come around. Or at least, he hopes she will, for both her and Deeks's sake.

* * *

He can barely focus on the briefing of the case in ops, because Kensi's rubbing a thumb over her ring finger. Her bare ring finger. His head jerks up when he hears his name coming from Hetty, telling him that he and Kensi will be driving to a warehouse where some meet's supposed to happen, but they don't know what time. Just what he needs, a stakeout with the woman who rejected him the night before.

He refrains from sighing. They approach the car in silence, and he feels her eyes on him as his look anywhere but at her. After half of the drive in silence, she says, "Deeks, look-"

He shakes his head, cutting her off. "Can we just... not right now? Please."

She reaches for his hand, her voice taking on an edge of desperation as she squeezes his fingers. "No, Deeks, we have to talk about it. Communication, remember?"

"What is there to communicate, Kens? You don't want to marry me. That's, that's fine." His tone's flat, dejected. Honestly, after last night, he just doesn't have a lot left in him.

She frowns. "Last night was so perfect. It was amazing."

"Was. You said no, Kensi." He doesn't try to keep the hurt out of his voice for her sake. He's done with going above and beyond only for her not to reciprocate any of what he does. "You won't even tell me why. Guess I'm not worth an explanation."

"Come on, Deeks."

"You don't even have a good reason why you said no. Just to take me down a notch."

"God, Deeks, _no_. I never wanted to hurt you. I wouldn't-"

"Then why?" he interrupts. "Why did you?"

"I'm scared," she admits, watching as his hands clench the steering wheel tighter. She faces him across the console, ashamed of the truth.

"Why are you scared?"

"Dammit, Deeks. I don't know."

"You scared we won't last?"

"What? No."

"You scared I won't take care of you?"

"You do. You will."

"You're scared I'm going to leave you."

She doesn't say anything. She looks straight ahead, over the dash.

He knows she has issues, having naively hoped that they were resolved in Afghanistan. But she has to know by now that he would never walk away from her. He doesn't know what to do to make her see. "I've told you so many times it doesn't mean anything to you anymore, but I would never, Kens. Not if I had any say in it."

She sighs, frowning. "I know."

"Then why?"

She plays with his fingers absently, looking at him but _not really_. "White dresses, suburban life... _kids_, it's so far from who we are, Deeks."

"Don't you want it?" He thinks back to the undercover assignment that turned them into a married couple for a few weeks, how she opened up to him, admitted that she liked the setting, the idea of a white picket fence and a husband, the whole nine yards.

"Our normal is so different from everybody else's."

"Everybody's different. We don't have to change. It's just a piece of paper and a ceremony."

"We're partners. In every sense of the word. People try to kill us almost everyday. One of us would have to quit."

"Neither of us would quit," he dismisses. "We've made it work so far, haven't we?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Nothing's going to change," he interrupts with insistence, needing her to believe him. "You'll have my last name, if you want it, we'll go home to a house together instead of hopping from one apartment to the other, and you'd wear a ring on your finger. That's it." He glances across at her for the first time when she's unable to argue. "Listen, I see the way you look at little families when we're out. One day, you're going to decide that you want that, and it's going to be too late, because you never planned ahead for the future that you think you could maybe want."

She sighs, running a hand through her hair, a habit she picked up from him. "You can't...rush this. We haven't been dating that long, not even a year..."

"We've basically been living together for a year and a half, we've been exclusive to each other for almost three... If you had it your way, we'd wait until a condom breaks and then go into panic mode, or wait until we're both grey haired and all of your eggs have shriveled up."

She parks across the street of a nondescript warehouse, tight-lipped, unable to deny the truth in his words.

"I mean, marriage is just a commitment, and we committed to each other a long time ago." He still sees apprehension in her eyes when he looks at her. He runs his thumb over her hand, feeling a wary sort of hope, afraid to get ahead of himself after her reaction to his proposal last night. But, against his better judgement, he feels optimistic. "It's scary. I know it is. But we're being bold together, right?"

She nods, smiling a little. He raises her hand up to his lips, kissing her knuckles. "Think about it?"

She's about to tell him she will when she sees movement out of the corner of her eye. "They're here. Call it in."

"Showtime."

* * *

She loves him. She didn't reject him to make him feel like shit, even though that's probably what he thinks. Thank God he's not giving up - he's fighting for her, giving her all the chances she needs, even if she doesn't really deserve his patience and devotion.

She's changed, they both have. She initiated an admission of love that ended with them happily ever after...sort of. And now she could be throwing everything away. Why? Because she's scared.

She may have let him in, opened up to him, confessed that he makes her so much better, blossomed from who she was before, the worst second date girl in town that shied away from any sort of commitment. But she's still Kensi, and as much as she likes to hijack wedding magazines from the doctor's and despite the fact that looking at babies makes her basically want to attack her boyfriend and make one before her biological clock runs out of time, marriage terrifies her. He tries to make it out like it isn't a big deal, but if he really doesn't care that much, then why does he press it? Why did he even ask?

She wants to marry him. But, as if them sleeping together isn't enough, two agents married? Partners, nonetheless? If Hetty objected so much after they couldn't stand four years of mounted sexual tension any longer that she forcefully separated them by sending her to Afghanistan, then surely they couldn't continue to work side by side if they decided to marry.

She's starting to realize - and it's scary, because she's always prioritized their partnership the most - that jeopardizing the chances of ever having a family, ever taking his name, because of a job is senseless. Their future as a couple, their love, should be prioritized more than the possibility of separating their careers. It's just that them together, working, is all she's ever known with Deeks. That's where their relationship stemmed from, saving the world together, having each other's backs. The prospect of having to let that go is beyond terrifying.

She's good at her job, they're good at it together. They kick ass, and they look good doing it. It's who they are - crazy, fierce, intuitive partners in crime that save the world together, and then go home to one another. Would a ring on her finger and a few vows change any of it?

Maybe she's over thinking it. Actually, she's sure she is. Because looking at Deeks, all blonde hair and instructive blue eyes as he leads her closer to the warehouse, she knows that she wants to spend the rest of her life with him. She wants to wake up with him every morning, pretend to hate the equal parts awful and equal parts adorable nicknames he comes up with for her, and she never wants to live in a world without his stupid jokes.

But as soon as she decides she wants to tell him she's changed her mind, it starts looking like she may never get the chance. Backup's less than a minute out, so they go ahead and sneak into the building, yelling _federal agents!_ when Callen and Sam say they've arrived. Unfortunately, criminals rarely listen when told to drop their weapons, and Kensi feels something burning through her skin, and then, numbness. She hits the ground and looks down at her chest to confirm that, yes, she's been shot. Seeing the blood spreading from a point in her chest, the dark hole in her shirt, makes the reality of what happened hit her, along with the pain. It comes in crippling waves, accompanied by awful nausea, and she wonders if this is it.

Black spots appear in her vision, so it's only his voice screaming her name that lets her know he's the one dragging her away. Vaguely, quieter than the ringing in her ears, she hears Callen and Sam announce their presence and Deeks yelling across that they need an ambulance. She cries out when he presses his palm to where she was shot, but after that explosion of pain, everything starts fading. The room, the agony, his voice.

She hears him begging her to stay with him, telling her that she can't do this to him, and every pivotal moment between them seems to come back to her, starting at the gym and ending with him on one knee. And she forces herself, despite the metallic taste of blood in her mouth, to talk. Because if this is the end, she can't have him doubting her feelings for him after last night, all because she's a coward, afraid of a white dress and a marriage license. She tells him around a mouth full of blood, her words broken, "I want to marry you." And then she feels a tear fall down her cheek, because she knows she's telling the truth, and for things to end this way doesn't seem fair. It makes sense, one of them going out like this, and she'd rather it be her than him, but it's so cruel that as soon as they get their shit together, tragedy tears them apart.

"You will," he promises, and through the haze, she sees tear-filled blue eyes staring down at her, feels his hands push against her, terror written on his features. "It'll be the best damn wedding in the world. I promise. You just gotta hang in there, you gotta stay with me..."

She can't. She wants to tell him that she's sorry, as she listens to his words fall away, and she opens her mouth, but nothing comes. She closes her eyes.

* * *

She stares up at him as he rambles, acting for a second like she wants to say something, but then her clouded, pain-filled, gorgeous eyes close. He cradles her head and wipes a tear from her cheek, his resolve crumbling as he feels her heartbeat slow beneath the hand that he has pressed to her chest. "Kensi," he breathes, the tears he'd been forcing not to let fall spilling down his cheeks. "Oh God."

He hears sirens drawing closer as he starts counting compressions, forcing her heart to beat for her. He presses his lips to hers, gives her his breath, all the while praying that their last kiss won't be like _this_.

When the medics come, Callen and Sam grab him, pulling him away from her. He knows how he must look, wild-eyed, covered in her blood, barely able to keep standing. He can't tear his eyes away from her, lying on the ground, blood saturating the entirety of her white t-shirt, which is almost exactly the same as his, red stains and all.

It hits him, when the medics pull out the defibrillator, that she's dead. Something breaks inside of him, and a sick sense of déjà vu takes him back to the last time he thought he lost her. He swears his own heart stops beating as he watches, waiting for her to come back to him, or choose to stay wherever she is.

He needs her. He needs her in his life, backing him up, smiling at him under the sheets, giving him a hug and a kiss at the end of a long day; he needs her by his side.

The crushing sorrow is followed with guilt. Why didn't he make sure she was covered?

He watches her fight for her life on the pavement, and he thinks,_ I'm sorry. God, Kensi. I'm so sorry_. If it had to be one of them, it should've been him. If he had her back, if he did his job, it would've been him.

She's far from perfect, but he doesn't look at her imperfections the same way she does. When she cries after startling awake from a nightmare or while she's decompressing following a hard case, she tells him that she's weak. But her ability to control her emotions and then allow herself to break down in front of him makes her so beautiful to him. Her vulnerability reminds him that she's not made of steel.

When their partnership first began, she was unapproachable and guarded. And she scared him, because ordinary people shouldn't be able to pull triggers without blinking, fatally shoot a dozen people and then go home and come back the next day and do it again. But he soon learned that, despite her cold exterior, Kensi breathes and sleeps and definitely eats the same way everybody else does. And later, he learned that she cries like everybody else, when doing what she does gets to be too much.

She's human. She's reckless, badass, immeasurably strong, but she's human, and today reaffirms it more than anything. Because she bleeds like everybody else does, too.

The medics get her heart beating long enough to load her onto the ambulance, and he tries to shove past Callen and Sam to get to her. They stop him, grabbing his arms, and even though he fights them, they're able to restrain him long enough for the ambulance to speed away. "Let them do their job," Callen says. "I know you hate it, but there's nothing you can do for her now."

"We'll take you to the hospital," Sam tells him, steering him away from the bloody scene where his partner may have met her end. "Come on, Deeks."

Deeks clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white, turning stiff shoulders away from the scene as he climbs into the back of the challenger. When they're on the road, going thirty over, Deeks asks, "Are they all dead?" Everything had been chaos. He can hardly recall the actual firefight, but in his head, Kensi falls to the ground in slow motion.

"Yes," Callen assures.

"She's going to be okay," Sam promises.

Deeks tries to speak past the lump in his throat. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

The rest of the ride, which takes less than half the time it would've had they been going the speed limit, is filled with apprehensive silence. By the time they get there, Kensi's already in surgery. Meaning all he can do is sit in the waiting room, replaying what happened in his head, tearing through every detail.

Sam and Callen stayed long enough for an update about Kensi and then went to close the case, but four hours later, they're back. Deeks hasn't moved. When Sam sits next to him, he doesn't look away from the floor tile he's been studying for half an hour. The former SEAL asks, "How you holding up?"

Deeks shakes his head. "I don't know."

"Heard anything about Kensi?"

"No." He really doesn't get what's taking so long. Blood transfusions and whatever else should be relatively conventional. "She's been in there a while. Something's wrong."

"Maybe not," Sam counters softly, and he clasps Deeks's shoulder, shaking him until he looks away from the floor. The detective's blue eyes are red rimmed and puffy.

"I can't lose her, man."

"I know. She'll pull through. Have some faith."

Deeks feels his breath catch. Her heart stopped beating while he was holding her. That's something he's never going to be able to let go of. "She _died_. I lost her. And I couldn't..." He can't continue. His throat's closing up, the tightness from behind his Adam's apple cutting off any words. If anything else comes out of his mouth, it's going to be a sob. Or a scream.

"You saved her. You kept her heart going. That was you."

Her getting shot, that's on him, too. He doesn't tell Sam, knowing that he wouldn't be having any of it. But he almost got her killed.

He reaches into his pocket for his lifeline, the single object that represents everything he hopes for, everything they want, one day. Everything they almost got taken away from them.

"The ring."

"Yeah," Deeks manages to say as he flips open the little box he's been clutching in his fist since he first arrived at the hospital.

"Nice," Sam notes, taking in the princess cut, good sized diamond on an obviously custom gold band. "Did you sell a kidney so you could afford this or start making meth?"

"Been saving."

"Must have, to afford this rock." Sam takes the box from him, removing the ring and holding it at eye level between his thumb and his pointer. "What happened, Deeks?"

Deeks sighs, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. He thinks back to the night before, a night that had started out like a dream and ended like a nightmare.

* * *

_"We're going to be late." Deeks runs a hand through his hair, trying to stop nervously tapping his hand on his thigh._

_"Late for what?" Kensi calls from the bathroom where she's applying lipstick, leaning from the open door to look at him._

_"For the twentieth time, it's a surprise. I can't tell you, 'cause then it won't be a surprise anymore."_

_"I hate surprises," Kensi says, which is exactly what he does not need to hear._

_"You'll like this one." _Please like this one.

_"Almost," she drawls, still primping. And then she finally, mercifully decides that she's ready, and she stands in front of him on the threshold in all of her did-up glory. "Done."_

_He smiles at her, knowing his eyes are probably popping out of his head right about now, because, damn, his girlfriend is hot. "Beautiful."_

_He realizes he's still staring at her, taking her in, when she steps up to him, grabbing his hand. "Didn't you say we're going to be late for something?"_

_Their reservations were set for twenty minutes ago, but for the price he paid, he knows he doesn't need to worry. The beach itself is crowded, which is nothing but usual and expected for Venice. They're away from the commercial beach, on the mouth of Marina Del Rey. "I'm a little dressed up for the pier," Kensi says, trying and failing to sound nonchalant._

_"Patience, Kensi-san." He takes her hand, leading her past crowds of bikini-clad beach goers, families, shoppers, and surfers. The crowd thins as they reach what appears to be an upscale restaurant with a line of people dressed just a nice as Kensi streaming out of it. Nowhere near as lovely, of course, but neither of them feel out of place anymore._

_He knows they look good together, her in a black, curve hugging scoop neck, all perfect curls and tan legs, and him in a baby blue button down that she picked out for him to wear. He sprayed on his favorite cologne; he can barely keep her off of him (not that he puts up much of a fight) when he has it on. It was funny, before they were together, catching her breathing in the scent he left behind when he'd wear it to work, and she'd blush even though he valued his life and therefore didn't call her out on her painfully obvious attraction to his smell. She, as always, smells like sunshine and gunpowder, but a little more like sunshine today, considering it's a Sunday and they haven't been around firearms since Friday. He figured out her perfume - Daisy, Marc Jacobs. Probably the best smelling stuff in the whole world, that is, when she wears it and gets it all mixed up with lead and charcoal and sulfur._

_He takes his smoking hot girlfriend by the hand and leads her past the line of hungry people who eye them, most with jealous contempt and a good portion with desire, either directed at him or her. He pulls her closer, ignoring the hosts and waiters, guiding her to the terrace, which is completely void of people. There's a table set for two lit by candles and paper lanterns and moonlight, and in the dull lighting they can just make out ships sailing on the ocean that they have a spectacular view of._

_"What is this?" she asks, her face alight with wonder as she squeezes his hand._

_He kisses the side of her head, pulling out her chair for her when he replies, "Dinner."_

_"It's..." She looks around, then down at the spread in front of her. "Wow."_

_He grins. "Still feel overdressed? See the things that happen when you let me take care of you?"_

_"This is amazing. You know you didn't have to do all of this."_

_"You're worth it," he says with a smile, looking at her like she's a sky full of stars._

_She blushes, looking away from him and down at her lap, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. So adorable, he thinks with a smile. Making Kensi Blye blush is one of his life's awesome little pleasures. He pulls a bottle of her favorite wine, Château d'Yquem, from an ice bath, and she looks at him with wide eyes. "Um, what are we celebrating?"_

_"Hmm?"_

_"A bottle of that stuff costs, like, two grand."_

_He laughs. "No. Half that."_

_"A thousand?!"_

_Deeks shrugs, trying not to think about what his bank account's going to look like by the time the night's over with. But he's not overly concerned. He works hard for his money, knows where his next check is coming from, and wants this night to be perfect. He pours each of them a glass. "Don't worry about it."_

_Before she can ignore him and continue worrying about it, a waiter emerges from the inside of the restaurant, which is filled to the brim. He retreats with their orders and their menus, and Deeks takes a sip of his last paycheck._

_"Worth it," he decides out loud, and she's about to argue, but he cuts her off. "Try it."_

_She complies, humming around her glass. "Wow. Okay." She takes another sip, trying to refrain from finishing off the glass. "This is really...fancy, Deeks. What's going on?"_

_Of course his super spy secret agent girlfriend picked up on the fact that something must be going on other than just a night out. He tries not to let his nerves take over, but it's so hard, when she's looking at him from across the table, her mosaic eyes seeing right through him. Sometimes he wonders if she can read his mind. "Just wanted to treat you, because I love you."_

_"I know. I...I love you, too."_

_"Then just enjoy dinner with me, okay? We're making memories together, and a hundred years from now we can tell our great-great-granbabies about what a charmer Pop Pop Deeks is."_

_She snorts, rolling her eyes. "Hate to break it to you, but in a hundred years, we'll be dead."_

_"Okay, then, fifty years from now. I bet you're still going to be kicking ass with your walker, by the way."_

_"I bet you'll lose all of that pretty hair."_

_He raises his glass, smiling at her. "A toast," he announces, and she does that simultaneous head shake/eye roll thing that shouldn't be as cute as it is._

_"To?"_

_"Fifty more awesome years. Together." With the hand that isn't holding her drink, she reaches across the table, interlacing their fingers together as she clicks her glass against his._

_"To fifty more awesome years," she agrees, taking a sip of her drink before adding, "together."_

* * *

"Sounds like everything was going good," Sam interrupts, confused.

Deeks rubs his hand over his face, a cloud of fatigue settling over him. "It was. Perfect. Everything I thought it would be."

"What happened?"

* * *

_The meal was just as amazing as the wine, and now a cool ocean breeze rolls off of the tide, carrying the crisp sent of the ocean. Kensi's smiling at one of his jokes, looking completely at peace. He thinks,_ this is it_._

_He stands up, and she watches him, a question on her lips, before he kneels next to her, taking her hand in his on her lap. Her eyes cloud with confusion and shock, and he takes out the little box, hoping that she doesn't notice how much his hand is shaking when he goes to open it. She closes her hand around his, stopping him from revealing the ring, shaking her head._

_"I'm sorry," she tells him, and her voice breaks. "I can't."_

_His voice trembles when he asks, "Why?"_

_The only answer he gets is her shaking her head. She stands up, walks to the balcony, and stares out at the ocean, looking like something out of a movie with Venice in the background, her hair blowing in wisps around her damp eyes, the stars sparkling above her, the only witnesses to the scene below them._

_"Why?" he asks again, his voice firm as he stands up. "Don't I at least deserve an explanation, Kensi? I thought you... I thought what we had wasn't just some-"_

_"It's not," she swears, her voice unstable but firm. "It's not."_

_"Then marry me, Kensi."_

_He walks up to her with purpose, the box carrying her ring still clutched in his hand, and he stops to stand just behind her. "Marry me." It's half a question, half insistence, still hopeful, even after her first rejection._

_Her reply breaks his heart, completely rips it in two. It's barely more than a whisper, but it resonates inside of him. She might as well have screamed it. "No."_

_His body slumps in defeat, then, and he turns away from her, walking towards the door without saying anything else. He could profess his love for her in a thousand different ways, pore out his heart, talk to her for hours about how committed he is to her, but he doesn't. She doesn't want to marry him, and he's not sure if he's okay with it. He thinks that maybe he should be used to not being good enough, but this is so different, so much more. This is Deeks and Kensi, Kensi and Deeks, and because of that, because of the feelings he has for her after what they've been through together, this just about kills him._

_"Deeks," she calls after him, like he's a petulant child. And then, he can picture her bottom lip quivering, her sad eyes (like she has real reason to be sad) flashing with anger and a hint of desperation as she yells his name again._

_But he doesn't turn around. He pays the insane bill, walks to the car by himself, and waits for her in the Cadillac. She comes dredging through the crowd, make-up smeared, eyes searching for his when she finds the car. He doesn't look at her._

_At home, they change and get ready for bed in silence. When she reaches for him under the sheets, trying to curl against his side like she usually does, he turns away from her. And she lies awake until the lighting in the room shifts, hating herself for her cowardice, and hating herself even more for breaking Deeks's heart._

* * *

"She'll come around. She's never been good with confrontations, you know that."

"I hope she does. But right now I just want her to pull through this."

Callen interrupts any further conversation when he comes through the doors of the waiting room with a cup holder containing three cups of coffee. "Heard anything?" G asks as he distributes the drinks.

"No," Deeks answers, nodding his thanks when G hands him the caffeinated beverage. After almost six hours, it's nearing midnight. He wants to tell the guys they don't have to stay all night, but he knows they're going to leave when they see fit, and he doesn't have to speak on Kensi's behalf. She's important to them, too.

He's nervous, scared out of his mind, and sick to his stomach. The thought of losing her is too much. And he's not even sure if she's out of the woods yet.

He doesn't take out his frustrations on the old lady manning the front desk. He waits, and he prays, because that's all he can do for Kensi.

The hours tick by. Three AM's right around the corner when a nurse finally approaches them. He tries to prepare himself for the worst, but the thought of her in a plastic bag is enough to make him lose his mind. He wants to ask, _Is she dead?_ but instead he waits for the ponytail and blue scrubs to start talking.

"The bullet entered near her heart, fractured her collarbone on contact, deflected, and ended up where it started. Internal bleeding was causing pressure to build inside her chest, so we had to take care of that, and she lost over three and a half pints of blood. The compressions from the CPR resulted in fractures to two of her ribs."

"God," Deeks murmurs, trying to figure out how she made it. The last time he saw her she was gone, but somehow, she pulled through. How, he may never know.

"She's pretty touch and go, but she's tough. We lost her once on the table, and we thought she was done fighting, but she came back."

"Is she out of surgery?"

"Yes. But she's in ICU, and we're not sure if she's ready for visitors. The anesthetics going to keep her out for a while, anyway."

He can't wait out here anymore. Not when he knows that she's out of surgery, barely hanging on. "Please. She's my fiancée. I need to see her." He's not sure if he's lying about the status of their relationship, but she doesn't have to know.

"Just one visitor for the night," the nurse concedes, eyeing Sam and Callen. "And family only, for now."

"I'll grab a bag from your house," Callen offers. "What do you need?"

Deeks thanks him and lists off a handful of items. Sam says he's going home to Michelle and Kam, and to keep him updated. "Hang in there" are his parting words.

The nurse leads him to her room. Kensi's face is colorless, her right arm's in a sling, and if it weren't for the beeping monitors, she could pass for dead. He tells himself over and over again that she isn't, but coming so close to losing her made him subconsciously try to brace himself for the pain (not that he could ever be prepared for a life without Kensi).

"Hey, princess," he whispers, leaning down to press his lips against her forehead. She had showered before getting ready for the date the night before and therefore hadn't before work, so he can still catch the scent of sun-kissed daisies on her skin. Her familiar perfume sends him into sensory overload, and he thinks back to when she asked him how he would describe the way she smells. Then he's thinking about kissing her on the motorcycle, telling her that her smile and her laugh were solely responsible for pushing him through his torture. They've come so far to be in this hospital room together with her engagement ring in his pocket.

"You need to wake up for me, Kensi," he tells her, stroking back her hair. "You can tell me to stop sniffing you like a freak." He kisses her cheek before sitting down and taking her hand. "But I know you. Nothing comes between you and sleep. Not even me, and I'm practically irresistible. You're going to take full advantage of this opportunity to lay your butt in bed and sleep."

Obviously, she doesn't respond. But that doesn't stop him from rambling more. "Sorry about your ribs, babe. You can kick my ass for cracking them when you get better. Promise."

"I know, I know. You're trying to sleep. Sorry." He sounds crazy. Great. So what if he feels to need to have a one-sided conversation with his unconscious girlfriend? He sighs, scratching his head, looking at her indisposed, lovely face. "Sleep tight, Kensi."

* * *

"You need to get some air," Callen tells Deeks the next day. Red Bull cans fill up the trash can in the corner of the room, and G debates on whether or not to hand Deeks the coffee he picked up for him. "And change clothes. You look like a zombie. A zombie that needs to shave."

"Yes, mom," Deeks complies, snatching the coffee from his hand and going to the bathroom to change into the clothes Callen brought him. Cargo shorts and a lightweight tee.

When he steps out with his new clothes, Callen asks, "When do they say she's supposed to wake up?"

"They said it could take up to twenty four hours for the anesthetic to wear off, and then however long she wants to keep us waiting."

"Why don't you let me sit with her? You need to get breakfast and go outside."

"Not hungry," Deeks replies automatically, sipping the coffee.

"You need to eat."

"You're going to be a great mother some day. I mean it."

Callen ignores him, taking the seat on the other side of the bed. "Getting shot sucks."

Deeks feels a pang of phantom pain where his bullet holes are. "Yes, it does."

"You broke her rib. And her shooting arm's in a sling. She's going to be pissed."

"I'm mentally preparing myself for her to kick my ass, trust me."

G smirks. "That's Kensi for you."

"Wouldn't want her any other way."

G watches the way he looks at Kensi, his eyes bloodshot and surrounded by bags, the smile that had been tugging at the corner of his lips replaced with a frown when he sees his unresponsive girlfriend. "Heard you proposed."

Deeks chuckles. "That piece of shit."

"Sam loves to gossip. You know that he's basically a fifteen year old girl under that SEAL exterior, right?"

Deeks just grins, reaching into his pocket for the box, which is warm from him holding it so often.

"She said no?"

"We talked. Right before... Anyway, she's been through a lot. She told me she was scared. Admitted to it and everything. I should've talked to her before. I mean, we're not even living together. But my mindset was, you know, I'm not getting any younger."

G surveys the detective, trying to surmise how Deeks feels about the whole proposal situation. He doesn't seem completely disheartened by any means. And G knows, after years of watching their relationship develop, of watching Kensi display her affection for him and support him in the things that he does, that her feelings for him are just as serious as his are for her. "You think she'll reconsider?"

"I hope so. I'm ready for something else, G. And I think we could make it work."

"If anybody can, it's you guys." He stretches, standing up. "Well, I guess if you're going to insist on becoming a hermit, I'll have to bring you some breakfast. Bagel or donut?"

"Don't care. As long as you bring me a coffee."

He watches as Deeks jitters, his leg shaking seemingly against his will. He makes a mental note to make it half decaf. "If Kensi knows we got Dunkin' Donuts without her, she'll be pissed. Maybe I should get a dozen with chocolate sprinkles as a get well present."

Deeks smiles, thinking about her junk food addiction. "She'd like that."

"See you after while. At least consider a cat nap while I'm gone? You look like hell. She's not going anywhere."

Deeks can't sleep. The nurses told him that if anything were to go wrong, it already would've. G's right, she's not going anywhere. But that doesn't stop him from irrationally fearing that if he closes his eyes, when he opens them she'll be gone.

G leaves, and he releases his hold on the ring in his pocket for her hand. "Here that? G's bringing you donuts. I know, he's gonna be your favorite for awhile. Probably until I break you out of here." He squeezes her fingers. "You better wake up soon, so they'll be nice and fresh, just like you like them."

He mindlessly watches TV because he feels a like a creep just staring at her, however well-meaning his intentions may be. G drops off a dozen chocolate caked donuts, a warm bagel for him, and a large cup of coffee that Deeks has a suspicion is decaf. "What do I owe you?" Deeks asks him as he gets ready to leave for the second time, this time bound for OSP to give everybody an update on Kensi.

"A beer, one day." He squeezes Deeks's shoulder as he turns to leave. "Take care of her."

"Always do. Thanks, man."

He sits by her bed for hours after G leaves, only getting up to piss out the coffee that was definitely decaf. He stifles a yawn when a nurse comes in to check her vitals. She looks over Kensi at him with sympathetic eyes. "Shouldn't be too much longer."

"Yeah, um, how much longer are we looking at? Because it's gonna take me five years to detox all of the caffeine I've put in my body."

She smiles, trading out Kensi's IV line for a different bag of fluid. "Mostly depends on her, but I'd say another two, three hours. She might surprise us, though."

"Nah, she hates surprises," Deeks says, half to himself. "Hey, want a donut?"

She raises her eyebrows. "What?" he asks, holding out the box to her. He's already had three, not because he's particularly hungry, more because he's bored out of his mind. "Go ahead."

She removes one of her gloves and reaches for a pastry, smiling carefully. "Um, thanks." She takes a bite, turning her attention back to Kensi, eyeing her thoughtfully. "Her stats are looking good. No sign of infection, the breaks were pretty clean. I'd say she'll fare pretty well considering what she's been through, when it's all said and done."

"That's good to know. Thank you."

"Just doing my job," the nurse says. She raises the donut up as she turns to leave. "Thanks again."

When she's gone, he leans closer to Kensi. "I know you'd be pissed if you knew I was giving away your donuts. But the thing is, you'll never know. Sucks being unconscious." No response. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

He's nodding off, his brain losing the fight to his body, when he hears her. It's faint, barely there, but it sends him flying to his feet. Her eyes are closed, but her lips move as her eyebrows knit together. "Deeks."

"Hey, hey, I'm here. I'm right here."

She groans, and he presses the call button for the nurses. He strokes her hair away from her pain-filled features, telling her that everything's going to be okay.

"What... what..." She doesn't seem able to get her words out. A hoard of nurses, including the one he gave a donut to, interrupt her from forming her sentence. She calls for him, through the mass of scrubs.

"Can you guys please just take it easy for a while? Let her get her bearings?"

The nurses look at each other, coming to a silent consensus. "Let me just check her vitals and make sure everything's normal, okay?" Donut Girl says, and Deeks nods his gratitude as the majority of the nurses exit.

"Thanks, Deeks," Kensi forces out, reaching for her side with the arm that isn't in a sling.

"I know I'm your knight in shining armor, you don't have to thank me."

"Good to see you awake," the nurse says. "Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

The crease in her forehead deepens. "Can't... talk. S'not normal."

"Slurring's almost a given after being under. Should wear off pretty soon. Just practice talking, if you can."

Deeks pours her a glass of water from a pitcher. He instructs her to sip slowly, and she ignores him, gulping down the water and ending up in a coughing fit, grabbing at her ribs.

He winces, pressing the button on the side of the bed to adjust her into a sitting position. "Should've listened to me." She glares at him, still clutching her side.

"Feels like... like a truck hit me."

"Pain button," Donut Girl says, holding up a plastic circle. "Use it." She hits it once for her.

"If anything seems wrong, press the call button," she tells Deeks on the way out.

He nods, turning his attention to his girlfriend when they're finally alone. "They said half an inch to the left, you'd be gone." He shakes his head, stroking her hand as he brings it to his lips. "Never scare me like that again."

She tugs at his hand with what little strength she has. "Come on," she demands, whimpering as she tries to move over.

"Take it easy."

She shakes her head when he tries to resist, scowling. "Come _on_."

Somehow they end up fitting in the bed together, their legs all tangled up, his arm wrapped around her slender frame, mindful of her fractures. "The bullet shattered your collarbone, caused a lot of pressure to build up in your chest. And, uh, two of your ribs got fractured, which was kinda my fault. When I was administering CPR."

She shoves him, but she's so weak, it tickles more than anything. "Hurts," she admits, snuggling against his side.

"I know it does. But you're alive." He turns his face into her hair, shamelessly breathing her in, holding her as close as he can with her injuries. "We lost you, for a little while there."

"I'm okay," she tells him, as she has so many times before. "I will be."

"You will," he agrees, knowing that he'll make sure of that.

He kisses her head, feeling her breathe against him. She holds onto the arm that encircles her waist, relaxing against him as much as she can. "Can we get married?"

"Now? If you insist. I, Martin Andrew Deeks, take thee, Kensi Marie Blye, to be my lawfully wedded -"

"Shhh..." she interrupts, placing her finger against his lips, tilting her head to look up at him. "When I go home... next year, August? Or... September. And a buffet."

He laughs. Of course her first concern is the food arrangements. "We'll have a buffet."

"Lots of beer," she says dismissively, like a large amount of booze is already a given. "And some of that good stuff... for us. The..."

"Chateau d'yquem_._ Sounds like you've given this a lot of thought. Or at least, you've given the food a lot of thought."

"I wanna get married." She rests her head against his chest. "I lied. I was scared. Now I'm not."

"So if I asked you now, if I got down on one knee -"

"Don't move," she half begs, groaning at the idea of readjusting.

"But you'd say yes? And not because the hospital has you doped up on something good?"

"Yes. Don't have to ask."

He takes the little box out of his pocket, putting the ring on her finger for her. She lets out a breath, holding the ring closer to her face. "So pretty."

"You like it?"

"Perfect," she says, putting her good hand on his cheek. He closes the distance between them so that she doesn't have to, beyond grateful that he got another chance to kiss his girlfriend. His _fiancée_. Holy shit.

Her lips are soft and the kiss is warm. He winds his hand through her hair behind the pillow, deepening the kiss, her hand moving from his cheek to the nape of his neck. She moans against his mouth, and he isn't sure if it's because he's hurting her or because she's as turned on as he it, but either way, he knows he needs to stop. Her eyes flash with frustration when he pulls away, and he just smiles at her, resting his forehead against hers.

She looks into his blue eyes, and he knows that she's seeing the fatigue written as clear as day on his face. "You look like hell. Sleep," she commands, tucking her head against his shirt once again. She kisses his chest through the cotton, her lips nearly touching the bullet hole that matches hers.

"Can't pull off the rugged look?"

She ignores him, closing her eyes and nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder. He tucks her head beneath his chin, and having her warm body pressed against his gives him the reassurance that he needs. He lets his eyes shut, knowing that she's going to be okay.


	6. Love you so

**A/n This chapter is partially rated M, so fair warning. Inspired by the spoilers and the interview where it looks like Deeks has a gash on his face.**

* * *

She can sense that the end is coming. The rest - what will happen before, during, and after - is a haze. She wonders when he's going to be taken away from her, and if there's anyway to hold on. Would the hings on the door they're currently opening give way, or would the wood splinter, when they kicked their way inside? How hard should she fight them? Is he going to resist, when they tear everything she and him have worked so hard for apart?

Or maybe he'll leave her before they come for him. She has no doubt that he can stay under the radar until she's able to prove his innocence, however long that may take. Months. Years.

The idea of waking up to find his side of the bed empty makes her cold. Her heart pangs with the empty fear of abandonment that used to be apart of her everyday life, until he came into it. She kicks off her shoes and tries not to crumble under the onslaught of emotion that's attempting to suffocate her.

The LAPD's case is built. The evidence has mounted, and the allegations are concrete, copious. Deeks knows it, too. He hasn't said a word since Detective Rivera approached them in the parking garage earlier that evening.

His demeanor is stagnant, something that's not quite resignation but very close clinging against him, and his eyes lack the warmth that she can almost always depend on seeing when she looks at him. Next to him, her current mood is the opposite of his; she's bristling, unable to deal with the helplessness she's feeling. She hates not having control. She hates knowing that she _could _have control, she could fix this for him, if he would just tell her the fucking truth...

"Marty-" She turns to face him but any words she was about to say are lost when she meets his eyes. The intensity she finds in the shades of blue startles her and a thrill runs down her spine, because for a second, she doesn't know him. He pulls her against his chest and she presses her lips to his, soundly. A fire is starting its course in her veins, burning bright enough for the both of them, replacing the cold feeling that thinking about him leaving her brought about. He pins her against the door, holding her shoulders as she runs her hand from his heart to his cheek, deepening the kiss.

They need to talk, she thinks distantly as he trails his lips down her neck. But he makes her forget, when he hoists her up, pressing his entire body against hers. Even through the denim, his proximity allows her to feel how hard he is, and need knots low in her abdomen. She squirms against him when he brushes his thumb underneath the denim of her jeans and the lace of her underwear, but the friction her movement creates makes her frustrated more than anything.

The fact that they're barely inside the house doesn't seem to faze him, and he's doing a pretty good job of distracting her from the fact. Her eyes flutter nearly closed as he traces his thumb between them, and then they fly open when he gives her a taste of what she needs, with the end of one of his fingers inside of her. She grabs onto his hair, his name falling from her lips when he breaks the contact, only to press his thumb against her bundle of nerves, transforming his name into a moan.

He steps away from her, all at once. She's left in a shaking, tousled state against the front door. The loss of contact elicits a groan of frustration from her lips. A few steps away from her, his eyes are dark cerulean, swirling with desire. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and then he offers an explanation for the abrupt end of his teasing by saying the word "Bed". The low resonance in his inflection and the lack of his body against hers causes her to shudder. He grabs her hand, leading her up the stairs. In their room, she tries to control her shaking hands as she reaches to undo the first button of her flannel. But before she can, he's pressing her against the edge of the bed, and the only thing separating them is fabric. He moves against her, and the feeling of deprivation makes her want to cry. She needs all of him.

He pushes her bottom layers past her waist, not even pausing to unbutton her jeans. She can see the frustration pass over his features in a wave of impatience as he struggles with his belt. She, being every bit as anxious as he is, tries to move to help, but by the time she sits up, his boxers are down and he gives her what they both need with a thrust of his hips.

He's addictive, and she's craving the delicious pressure that him inside of her provides. She meets his thrusts, trying to get more of him. "Harder," she begs (it terrifies her how easily he can make her lose control of herself, something that she's only okay with when he's the cause of it), and suddenly the pace quickens and explosions of spots start to block her vision.

"Fuck, come on, Kensi," he urges, and the pace becomes desperate, frantic.

"I-" But she can't even tell him how close she is. His movements, the way he makes her body react, are unlike anything she's ever felt before. For a split second before her climax, she feels like she's dying, drowning in a wave of sensation. He rides it out with her when she finally comes, grabbing her thighs as he allows himself to let go. She's positive that she blacks out for a good fifteen seconds, and when she can see and breathe again, he's buttoning his jeans. She sits up, knowing that she looks decidedly less put together than he does, considering she can hardly even sit up from her position on the foot of the bed.

The euphoria makes her partially numb. He watches her try to put herself back together again, reveling in the knowledge that he fostered her reaction. When he speaks, his words come out as a low sigh. "Come here."

She doesn't completely trust herself to stand up yet, but she manages to find her footing and stumble into his waiting arms. When the ecstasy that had momentarily overtaken her dissipates, she starts to shake as the imminence of her losing him and her inability to protect him hit her full force. She hides her face in his embrace, so that he can't see the tears that fill her eyes.

She's able to hold it together enough to blink the dampness away so that he doesn't know she's crying when he pulls away to unbutton her shirt. After they've both shed themselves of all of their layers, they step into the shower together, and he wipes the evidence of their intimacy from the inside of her thighs with a washcloth before lathering shampoo onto her scalp. He rinses out the bubbles and massages conditioner throughout her hair. As they wait for it to sink in, they slide to the floor of the shower, holding onto each other.

Her quiet words are almost lost to the sound of water hitting the bottom of the shower, but he hears her when she says, "Talk to me."

"About?"

Wrong answer. She looks up at him, her eyes beautiful daggers, exhaustion written clearly on her features. "Deeks."

"What do you want me to tell you?"

"The truth." Her voice drops, as if somebody could be overhearing their conversation, which he realizes isn't so far-fetched of a possibility. "It's your last chance."

He places a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. "You'll understand soon. I promise."

"That's all you're going to tell me?" It's more of a statement than a question. She already knows the answer.

He strokes the inside of her wrist, playing with her fingers. "I hope you realize..." He trails off, seemingly distracting himself by tracing a path up her palm with his thumb. When he continues, his hand is intertwined with hers, and his arm's around her waist. "...how much I love you."

* * *

She keeps thinking about his words from the shower, turning them over in her head as she tries for the thousandth time to make sense of everything. His mother keeps talking about how she doesn't understand, how her Marty's always been a "good boy", and it's all very depressing. He's in jail now, and he's still unwilling to shed any light on the predicament. She swears if it's something to do with protecting her, she's going to kill him.

She walks into the jail like she owns the place, as she's done everyday since he got thrown into the hellhole. She's had an awful, partnerless day, and as pissed as she is for what he's done to her, she's even more angry with him for his mother. She's been worried sick and confused about her son. And also, concerned about Kensi, who she understands is taking the brunt of his absence. In essence, his mom is an angel, and she doesn't deserve to worry like she has been.

She's prepared to give him an ass chewing, as she waits for him behind the glass. But when the guards set him in front of the phone, and she sees his gorgeous face, swollen and bloodied, the anger falls away. She can't help the crack in her voice when she picks up the phone and asks, "What happened?"

"Reunited with some old friends." There isn't a hint of humor in his voice. He looks broken.

Tears fill her eyes. The last time she saw him like this was after Sidorov. And she's going to have to leave him again, soon. "Deeks..."

He watches her cry, and he wants to touch her more than anything. He seriously contemplates breaking the glass before telling her an extended version of the truth. "Some guys that I put away found me during rec time."

"Oh, God."

"I'm fine."

She ignores him, wiping away a tear with a hand that's clenched into a fist. "Who did it?"

"Somebody I put away for domestic violence awhile back. He jumped me with some goons." He tenderly traces a bruise on his jaw, wincing. "I guess it was inevitable, with all the people I've made enemies with."

"What did they do with the person who did this to you?"

"Box for three weeks. Bastard."

She knows that a similar situation is bound to happen again. She can't leave him like this, vulnerable, beaten, confined with people he's given life sentences. "I don't know what to tell your mom."

"Hopefully that you're going to get me out of here soon." His eyes meet hers, and the silent plea she finds inside of them breaks her heart.

She inches her hand across the table and taps the glass with her finger. It's the closest she'll get to touching him. "Working on it." She wishes she could reassure him more, but there's not much she can do from her position on the other side of the glass. She holds his gaze, trying to convey everything that her words can't. How worried she's been. How hard she's fighting for him. How much she misses him. She'll get him out, but until then, he has to stay strong. "Hang in there."

"As long as I have you waiting for me on the other side." His insecurity breaks her heart. They share a lot of fears, but that of abandonment has never been more prevalent to her than in this moment. He's made a lot of mistakes, but she still loves him. She could never stop loving him.

She offers him a tight smile, trying to hide how affected she's been by everything. She hasn't slept soundly since he was arrested, occupied by her worry and the thought of him alone on a hard slate for a bed. "I'm not going anywhere."

His eyes soften, filling with admiration and surprise. And then it's like a shadow passes over his face. "Maybe you should."

"Maybe I should," she agrees. "But I won't."

"I hope you don't regret saying that."

"I'm not going to." She raises an accusatory eyebrow, to make him aware that she knows he knows the true reason he's in here. "Because you have nothing to hide, right?"

He cringes, and she feels the self-loathing emanating from his disposition. She's always hated that part of him, the parts that are full of unwarranted hatred for the man that he's become. "I'm sorry." He frowns, fidgeting with his bangs, so that he can see her face without hair obstructing his line of sight. "I mean it."

She know that she should be concerned about how easily she's forgiven him. Whatever his sins may be, she knows that in her heart, it won't matter. She knows what he's capable of, and whatever he did 'wrong' was probably committed with the intent to protect somebody, or to entertain the idea of a greater good, and even if it (whatever "it" may be) was committed in anger, she's confident that Deeks acted like he did for justice, or for retribution. Her trust in him is rooted with her own pride; she knows that she wouldn't have opened her heart to somebody capable of heinous immoralities. "I know."

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. I trust you. I love you."

Before he can reply, a guard tells him that it's time for him to go back to his cell. She feels a lump form in her throat, knowing that anything could happen between now and the next time she gets to see him. "Tell my mom I said hi, okay? And that I love her."

"I will. Just be careful." The guard tells him to stand up, and she locks eyes with him as the handcuffs are fastened behind his back. She smiles, the only encouragement she can offer to him. His bloodied face is steered away from her.

When she walks outside of the prison, she finds a uniformed officer smoking a cigarette against the side of the building, presumably on break. She approaches him with two hundred dollars and her dad's knife, and promises another payment if it's delivered to the blonde detective arrested for charges of misconduct. The knowledge that he isn't completely unprotected ebbs away some of the all-consuming worry that was only amplified when she saw how he'd been beaten.

When she gets to her house (his house, but whatever), she deadbolts the door he had cornered her against. The empty feeling in her heart is back, and with it, a lack of security. Deeks makes her feel a plethora of emotions, ranging from annoyed to loved to needed, but the one she's come to rely upon the most since the beginning of their partnership is protected. Without his presence in the house, a bout of vulnerability prompts her to sleep with her gun underneath her pillow, something she hasn't done in years. She leaves the door cracked and the hallway light on, like she's ten years old.

Considering she hasn't been arrested for attempting to smuggle a weapon to a criminal, she trusts that her knife made it to Deeks. She used to think about him and that knife all of the time in Afghanistan, wondering if he had to use it, wondering if it was serving its intended purpose of keeping him safe. And just like she used to do in Afghanistan when she was too far away from him, she tells the empty room, "Goodnight, Deeks." She closes her eyes.


	7. Save the Day

At his house, he tugs at her shirt as she deepens the kisses, stealing away all of her breathy whimpers as they fall from her lips. He thinks about her body slumped against his, the unfamiliar perfume that still clings against her, the lost look in her eyes as she lay in the ambulance and was asked to recount what happened to her for the first recollection of many that will follow her until the case is wrapped up in its entirety.

If he would've known the details when they started arresting people, if he would've known Lee Ashman and those depraved women's intentions, he's sure that he would have killed somebody, whether it was the bastard who'd been planning the confrontation since he laid eyes on Kensi, or the blonde girl who had orchestrated everything. He sat with her in the ambulance for her preliminary examination, but Sam and Callen needed him, so he couldn't go with her. He agreed to leave with them because he knew that he still had a job to do and that he owed it to David to follow through with his promise of reuniting him with his wife.

He can't stop thinking about how much worse it could've been. If they gave her another dose, like Gaia proposed. If the paralysis left her unable to escape the bed, instead of her having found her footing enough to stumble down the hallway as she had managed to do, using nothing but her force of will. Her will to escape. Her will to fight.

He makes love to his girlfriend, discarding the lingerie that had replaced the underwear she originally wore into work, before they stripped her down and prepared her for what had the potential to be one of the worst experiences of her life. They had undressed her (that alone was enough of a violation) with their intent crystal clear. It makes his stomach flip, thinking about it.

Kensi can't seem to get enough of him tonight. She keeps begging for more, and her hips slide against his in a way that suggest she's writhing to get closer, and her hand stays buried in his thick curls. She closes her eyes and begs for her climax, and he moves faster on top of her, feeling her fingers tighten into fists as she holds onto his hair. Ecstasy passes over her face in a beautiful wave as the end approaches for both of them, and when they're done, he pulls her against his chest, something he's thought about doing all day long. In the gym when her incense burner smoked up the air they breathed and her slick body was against his back, when he really wanted her underneath him instead, pressed between the mats and his skin. After he was almost drowned, and he resurfaced to find her screaming for him, even though their covers weren't supposed to know each other. When he found her in the hallway, and she could barely stand without collapsing, and they had to move before he got the chance to hold her and whisper reassurances into her hair.

The sex that follows days where they're faced with the reality of losing one another is always intense and soul-shaking, but tonight there's something else. When he pulls away from her, dropping a soft kiss to her lips, she grabs onto his biceps, reaching for him again. The way she's kissing him is almost frenzied, and he forces himself to stop her when she hitches her leg around his hip. "Kens…"

She moves against him, testing his self control. But something's definitely off. "Baby… What's the matter?"

She shrugs, molding their lips together once again. "Nothing," she murmurs against his lips, still not putting any space between them.

"Kensi…"

"I need you, Deeks. Please." It's late now, and it's been one hell of a long day. When he pulls away from her, he can see the exhaustion on her face. Exhaustion mixed with a thousand other emotions.

He kisses her nose, then her forehead, and wraps his arms around her. He says, "I'm right here." He rubs her back, and he can feel her inhalations become discordant as she fights for self control. He coaxes her to stop holding onto everything by bringing his hand to stroke her hair as they embrace, and he can feel wetness start to gather on his shoulder as she tries to process the thoughts that she's been attempting to block out and probably rationalize, knowing her.

He understands that she's trying to use him to clear away any traces that they may have left. He's more than willing to help get them off of her mind, but he knows that healing doesn't completely come from counterbalance. He knows she needs to talk, but listening's going to be hard. He can't handle thinking about her vulnerability captured in the hands of people who had awful desires that involved her at the center of it all. He tightens his hold on her.

When she starts talking, her words are broken up and her face is still hidden against his shoulder. "I can't forget the way he looked at me. They undressed me and when I woke up he… he said he wanted me to experience it." His hands tighten into fists against her back. Nausea rises unbidden as bile in his throat. If he had a chance to get his hands on Ashman… "Then I wasn't even sure I could make it out –"

"– because of the drugs." With his hand still stroking her hair, his fingers move with her head as she nods. "If you hadn't been able to, I would have found you in a couple of minutes. And Lee Ashman would be dead right now. Him and the other psycho bitches."

She wipes away the few tears that escaped. "Thank you. For getting me out of there."

"I will always save you. From creeps and terrorists and big spiders –"

"– That was one time! And it was huge."

"I know it was, that's why I saved you from it." Also because his kick ass girlfriend who puts on a brave front everyday allowed him to see her reluctance of going after something as silly as a spider. (Even though that fucker was huge, and he honestly hadn't wanted to be the one to kill it, either. The things he does for love.) "It's okay to need saving every once in awhile." She smiles a little at the sincerity in his words. His voice takes on a teasing edge when he says, "You might even be able to return the favor one day."

"I've saved your ass so many times you couldn't even begin to count."

"I've saved you more."

"No, you haven't."

He knows she won't let him have this one, but she's smiling, and that's all that matters. "Whatever you say, babe." He kisses her for the last time that night, grabbing her hand underneath the sheet. He isn't completely sure she'll sleep without restlessness tonight, but he's going to be right next to her, if she needs him. "Try to get some sleep. I got you."

He waits until her breathing evens out to curl onto his side, facing her, making sure she's within arm's reach. The day's been a nightmare, but they made it, safe and almost sound. Days like the one that just ended are days he hopes won't come around very often.

But when they do, he knows that they'll make it. Because love conquers all. Their love will always be enough.

Comforted by that thought, he focusing on syncing his breathing with Kensi's and begins to drift off.


	8. Coming to a Head

_"Don't make me take off my belt." The belt is the worst. The look in his dad's eyes is enough to make him want to piss his pants, but he stands his ground. If he runs, he's gonna catch him, and beat it out of him. If he tells a bad lie, he's not gonna be able to sit down for the next week. But the truth isn't an option. _

_His mom cowers in the corner, eyes shining. "Gordy," she says meekly. Marty wishes she would stay out of this. _

_"Shut up, Roberta."_

_In his nine miserable years living with his dad, he's figured out how to handle these kinds of things. He looks up at his dad, and doesn't let himself tremble. "I didn't break it."_

_"Don't lie to me, son."_

_"I'm not." He keeps his voice steady, and tries not to sound too defensive. That's always a dead give away. "After you fell asleep last night – " (passed out) " – there was a little earthquake. Mom tried to wake you up and everything. We didn't even realize the clock was broken until we came out and saw it in the kitchen."_

_One of Gordon's huge hands grabs the little boy's chin, forcing Marty to look up into the face of a monster. His dad's thumb pushes painfully against his chin. "You know what happens if you lie to your dad, don't you?"_

_It makes Marty's mouth burn just thinking about it. Being forced to gargle a few tablespoons of Texas Pete for a couple of minutes always makes him cry, and he's a pretty tough kid. But it's only happened a few times, when he was younger. Before he learned. He impresses himself with his lies, sometimes. And every time the taste of hot sauce touches his tongue, it makes his lies better the next time around. "Hot sauce."_

_"That's right." Marty glances at his mom again, and the guilt clinging against her is almost palpable. The clock had shattered against their fold out dinner table when she was trying to dust the top of the windowsill next to it. She tried to pick it up and hide the pieces, but Gordon had woken up and walked out of the bedroom before she could hide it. He assumed it was Marty's fault before either of them could say anything._

_Pain shooting through his jaw forces his eyes back to his dad's. "Look at me. Are you telling the truth?"_

_He trusts himself. Lying's the best way out, and he's pretty damn good at it. His voice remains steady, earnest even, and his eyes hold his dad's. "Yes."_

_His head drops when his dad finally lets go of him. He doesn't allow himself a sigh of relief, but he grins a little when Gordon turns away. The more he has to lie, the better he gets. And the better he gets, the easier it becomes. _

* * *

She's young, blonde-haired, and skinny as hell. Her legs are knobby sticks that tremble as she stands in the corner, her clothes half torn off of her, her face bloody and swollen. She doesn't even look old enough to drive.

When she has her make-up on, and her light hair down and curled so that it distracts from her face, and what little cleavage she has is pushed up with one of her bombshell bras, she can pass as being of legal age. It's the only reason he agreed for her to be his informant in the first place. But seeing her scared and vulnerable like this reminds him that she's just a kid.

Bruises mar her exposed skin. She says, "He's going to kill me."

He's a police officer, but so is Boyle, so this definitely won't be standard procedure. "Frank," Deeks says, taking a step closer to his former partner, who's currently aiming his pistol at a wide-eyed, shaking teenager. "Listen to me, Frank. She didn't give you up."

"Yes, she did, you son of a bitch." He moves his finger to the trigger of his gun. Tiffany whimpers, and closes her tear-filled eyes.

Before Deeks knows it, he's on top of Boyle, and he fights his gun out of his hands and into his own. But the asshole doesn't stop. He fights with Deeks until he escapes out of his grasp by punching him square in the jaw, and he scrambles over to Tiffany. He grabs her by the throat and squeezes. _Damn him_, Deeks thinks. Then he pulls the trigger on Boyle's gun.

He wipes his prints off of it, presses Boyle's dead finger against the trigger, and lays it beside Tiffany. Then he gives her his flannel to wear over her torn shirt, tells her to wash her face, and to run. Later, he'll find her, and give her a new name, and a new beginning, and a story to rehearse. He cleans off the doorknob and anything else he may have left fingerprints on, and then he leaves.

He gets paranoid, years after, and goes back to the hotel room. If the case is ever reopened and they find his DNA, he needs a valid reason for it being there. So he tells Kensi his house is being tented, lays down on the bed he murdered his partner next to, and closes his eyes, but can't sleep. He trails into the mission at two in the morning, forgetting that he's supposed to pick up Kensi from the airport because she was in Hawaii. She doesn't suspect anything.

Four years later, he's arrested for the murder of Francis Boyle. He gets away with it. He leaves Hetty in all of her cynical glory at the mission, and joins his girlfriend for drinks. She drapes her arm around him and leans into him, right in front of the guys. He laughs with them, even though he doesn't feel like it. He's so tired. He doesn't know how he's still going.

Kensi sees through his happy exterior, and puts her hand on his thigh under the table. "I'm pretty tired," she says. "Maybe we should call it a night."

"Yeah, G can hear the couch in the mission calling his name."

"Whatever, man. The life of a wanderer isn't one you understand. You're too domesticated."

"You sound bitter, 'cause you don't have a loving wife waiting for you at home. It's okay. I would be too."

"Night, guys." Kensi finishes the last sip of her beer before scooting out of the booth after Deeks, grabbing his arm as they make their way to their cars. "You going back to your place?" Kensi asks, squeezing his bicep.

"It's late. My mom's probably asleep. And I wanna be with you."

"My place, then." She lets go of his arm. "I'll follow you."

At her house, even though he's exhausted, he needs to take a shower. He feels gross. He probably doesn't smell that great either. He lets the water run over him, down from his hair to his back, and the steam mounts around him. He rests his head against the side of the shower and closes his eyes, trying to quell the many thoughts running through his mind. He thinks maybe Callen and Sam suspect he did it, and makes a mental note to initiate some guys' nights with them. He knows that Kensi's able to put it together anytime, but he doubts she already has.

He needs to stop lying to her. Between all of the little white lies he's told over the years without a second thought (sometimes just for the hell of it) and all of the big ones that he knows are going to bite him in the ass, their relationship's basically floating on a piece of debris in a sea of deception, all of his creation. Well, at least he has a valid excuse for not telling her about the murder. Her ending up as an accessory isn't something either of them want. But even with all of his justifications, that doesn't mean she isn't going to be pissed. That doesn't mean that this couldn't end them.

He just feels like shit. About himself, who he is. About her, and how she deserves so much better. And physically, he's beat. He thinks he's getting too old for all of this.

He hears the door creak open, and then her lithe, bare body silently slides inside next to his. She offers him a little smile, raising her head to kiss him. "I thought you fell asleep in here."

"Long day," he comments between kisses. She nods, and grins as she trails her lips down from his jaw to his neck. He tries to pull away from her when he realizes what she's doing. "Kens, you're tired."

"I missed you." She shrugs before continuing her trail of kisses lower, lower…

It's the worst blowjob he's ever received in his life. Not to say it doesn't feel amazing, and quality wise it's on up there with the best of them, but he feels impossibly guilty and undeserving and depressed when she's done. He wants to cry.

She grabs his hand and leads him out of the shower, wrapping him in a towel before putting on a set of silky pajamas. He steps into a pair of boxers, and even though he just wants this day to end and go to bed, he follows Kensi into the living room. She sits on the couch, and he slides onto the floor in front of her. She picks up a comb from the side table and starts to sweep locks of his hair away from his injured face, working through the knots with a tenderness he never would have dreamed she possessed before they started dating. He closes his eyes as she worries about the cut.

"Did you get it checked out by a medic?"

"Uh-uh. It's shallow, though."

She knows he's right, so she lets it drop. "Jumping into a twenty foot deep marina with your hands cuffed behind you wasn't a smart idea."

"Neither was hanging out so that bastard could kill us, and then toss our bodies down there anyway."

She's silent for a beat, and then her quiet voice fills the space between them. "You scared me."

He opens his eyes for the first time since the conversation began. "I'm sorry."

She runs the comb through his hair one last time, and he allows his eyes to flutter shut again. "Let's go to sleep."

He nods, and under the sheets, she rubs his back until he falls asleep. His last thought before drifting away from consciousness is that this woman is going to be the end of him.

* * *

He only makes it a week before telling her. She'd given him guilt-inducing head again the night before, and it's too much. It's killing him. He has to come clean before Christmas, and before their anniversary. He can't start another year with her on a shaking foundation of accumulated lies.

But she already knows. She already knows, and she's not even mad at him. Not really. He thinks about how she's everything he's never deserved for the millionth time.

It's after dinner at Sam's place when he's showing Kensi how much he loves her that he figures maybe she knew how to ease the confession out of him after all. He's not the only one who knows how to get what he wants, but going down on him the past few nights, starting with the night he got back from jail, is a great manipulation technique. He smiles to himself, remembering when he referred to her as a fickle mistress.

"I get it now," he tells her, as she lays half on top of him after they're done making love, staring at her hand resting on top of his heart, his arm securely around her.

"Hmm?" she asks, barely looking up at him, too sated to move even her head.

"You've been extra nice. You wanted to guilt me into telling you."

"Mmm, maybe," she admits, reaching for his hand. He meets hers on his stomach, rubbing his fingers over hers.

"Should've known. You hardly ever give me blowjobs."

"I prefer sex," she says in her 'get over it' voice.

"Wanna know a secret? So do I." Because there's nothing better than having her, being with her in a way he never wants to be with anybody else; because there's nothing better than this, her pressed against him with flushed cheeks and a perfect, lazy smile painted across her face. "Now I'll know, if you ever suck me off, I'm in trouble."

"You weren't in trouble."

"I should be." There's that guilt again. Damn it to hell. He should not get to lie here next to her, hold her and have her for his. He should not be here right now, with her.

"Listen to me," Kensi says, her words soft but insistent. "Listen, baby. I never want you to be afraid to tell me the truth. The parts of me that have overreacted in the past, like when I hit you, and all of my aggression… I'm not that person anymore. I'm not the person that punishes who she loves because he does what he thinks is right."

He thinks for a minute that maybe she's still trying to make him feel bad, but she's already gotten his confession. Her words are genuine, and even though they warm his chest, they cause a lump to form in his throat. "You should hit me more often, Kens. Your boyfriend is a major fuck-up."

"No…" He hates seeing her cry. He hates it even more, knowing that she's crying because of him. But what he told her is nothing but the truth. He tries to do the right thing, he tries to protect people, he tries and tries, and he always gets bit in the ass for it. It's depressing as hell.

Even more depressing are the tears falling on his chest. One of the many tears he's been fighting since he told her the truth escapes down his cheek. Today's been a day full of celebration and holiday cheer (even despite the gruesome quality of the case), and he's ruined that for her, too.

"Sorry…" he mumbles, unsure what exactly he's apologizing for. He wasn't expecting her reaction, to say the least. He half-expected her to laugh it off, because he really is a joke.

His apology seems to break her out of her trance. "Deeks. You're not a bad man. I don't care how many times you've heard it before, I don't give a _damn_ about your mistakes. You are the best man I've ever known."

"Your dad would have something to say about that."

"You remind me of him. He died, trying to protect somebody he didn't know from Claremont. You were tortured to protect Michelle, you… you waterboarded that cleric for me, Deeks. To save me." His breath catches. He told her about Afghanistan a couple of months ago. He'll never forget the look on her face, a mixture of gratitude and heartbreak. "I hadn't seen that reckless selflessness in somebody since I lost him, until I met you."

He hears her, but her words don't make much sense to him. Surely she isn't comparing him to her father, the figure that was the opposite of what he had when he was growing up. He was her idol, still is. And here she is, comparing him to her dad. He doesn't get it.

"You are a good man, Marty Deeks," she tells the man that she thinks he is, kissing where his heart is. "To all of the people you've saved, Tiffany, your mom, me… you're our hero."

It's easily the sweetest thing anybody has ever said to him. He kisses her lips, and then wipes away both of their tears. "I love you so much."

She hugs his midsection, holds her partner close. "I know." She takes his words from earlier. "Do you know how much _I_ love _you_?"

"Now I do." He kisses her head, and reaches over her to turn off the lamp. His next words are spoken into darkness. "Thank you."


End file.
